OPEN; On Turning Nineteen

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

When; Evening, November 17th
Rating; PG
Characters; miss_waldorf and guests
Summary; Birthday soiree over at the penthouse.
Log;

When Blair turned sixteen, she wanted to be seventeen so she could seal the deal with Nate. Then when she turned seventeen, she wanted to be eighteen so she would be legal (not that she needed license to drink or that she would ever drive). Then when she turned eighteen, she wanted to be a proper lady, a 21st-century Grace Kelly with Hepburnian charm. But now that she is turning nineteen... she wants to turn around and grow younger instead.

After all, even the very Eleanor Waldorf said that she will never be more beautiful or thin or happy than she was before this. Apparently, it all goes downhill from here.

Blair doubts she is any thinner now than she was when she had the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old, but these days she doesn't recoil as much from the mirror. On good days, she can even watch herself eat without feeling sick to the bone. As for being happy, she bets that despite wearing black, she must be glowing from the inside like Chinese lanterns Love is what it's called. She must look so much like her mother does when her stepfather is around. She has found her very own Cyrus now, and with hair to boot.

So this birthday still calls for celebration. Tall white candles have been placed all over the penthouse although half lights keep the room from being too dark. A long dining table has been set with sixteen assigned chairs placed around it. Blair and Serena sit on either ends of it. Clockwise from Blair are Dorian Gray, Gabriel Sylar, Blue, Kanda Yuu, James Wilson, Arthur Pendragon, Peter Pevensie, Serena, Caspian, Peter Petrelli, Tony Foster, Sam Witwicky, Thom Reston, Faith Lehane, Rosella, and Blair again.

Eat heartily, converse with those beside and across you or declare a toast or two with the '95 vintage Krug.


[ ooc; if talking to a specific person or declaring a toast for everyone to respond to, simply indicate~ I'll be stalking all threads so Blair should be able to reply when mentioned. Also, feel free to play out any events after dinner. ]

Comments

Open:

[nobodyneedknow.livejournal.com]

Dorian Gray understands parties.

This one is pretty enough, the guests intriguing to look at. One definite advantage that this particular place has over his own home is the definite proliferation of rather beautiful people, and Blair seems to cultivate an assortment of them. He knows some of the people at the table; Rosella, Caspian, and Faith, and he's being more polite than he usually is at these sort of events, gauging the atmosphere before he acts on anyone.

He would especially like to act on the girl sitting at his right hand.

Instead he leans back into his chair and watches. His brown suit is in a dark, rich tone, and is cut appropriately for the modern age, but the tailoring is exquisite. Dorian Gray has excellent taste, no one can fault him for that.

To Dorian;

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

It used to be that Blair recruited the prettiest people with the richest and most powerful fathers to be her loyal minions. But power is very arbitrary in the City, and money doesn't matter much when there is no one to impress, but being beautiful is still a status symbol. As a wise man once said, beauty is a form of genius --higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation.

Had Dorian mentioned his observation, it would have taken a moment for Blair to realize the truth in his comment. The people at her table were all strikingly attractive in one way or another, but that was of no conscious effort of hers --although she might have unconsciously refused to talk to ugly people. It was unintentional, of course, she did talk to the likes of Dan and Nelly Yuki for a time, didn't she?

Taking a sip of her champagne, she notices her guest leaning back from the table. "I hope the party hasn't grown too dull for you, Mr. Gray."

[nobodyneedknow.livejournal.com]

Dorian takes a sip of his drink and turns to Blair, a fond, almost cat with the canary smile curling his lips. He likes Blair. He thinks she's pretty, if a little bit over-American, but that cannot be helped. She certainly has a way with people that he admires, to an extent. However there is something brittle about her, something he cannot describe but that he knows truly if he were to squeeze hard enough she would break.

He's almost curious to see if he could manage it. No one in London thinks of Dorian Gray as a particularly cruel man, but he can be, cruel and careless. But at the party he is on his best manners, so his smile turns a bit sweeter. "Perhaps a little bit quiet, but I'm sure it will liven up quickly." He turns very carefully to look at her, and his smile is now charming, the kind of smile that Wotton would take as a signal to distract Blair's chaperon, if such a thing existed in this City, in this era.

"Perhaps you'll take a walk with me, or a dance, after dinner has concluded." He raises his wine glass to his lips. "I could tell you all manner of things about London society. Here, even, if you wish, although I hope you're not disappointed. It seems that the social life for ladies here is much more exciting than back in London."

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

Had that smile been on someone else's face (say, Carter's or Chuck's) Blair would have immediately recognized it as a cue to hitch a private jet straight to her daddy's villa in France. But it was on Dorian Gray, a proper gentleman from the 19th century who would have a heart attack at the very mention of sex and drugs. Blair fancies herself the one soiling him.

"My friends don't really know my other friends," she says with a bit of a pout, though she regains her smile quickly enough, "except for Serena."

Fortunately for Dorian, poor little Blair is alone in the big City without her Dorota. "A walk! We'll take a walk and you'll tell me everything," she grins. "I promise I won't be disappointed. Authenticity is better than excitement, and socialites these days are such wannabes. I want to learn from the one who knows best."

Open:

[makes-you-tick.livejournal.com]

Sylar smiles at the man as soon as they're sitting down. His dark purple suit goes nicely with Dorian's brown- of course, Blair had planned this.

"Enjoying the party, I hope?" he asks, with a bit of a shrug. "I'm honestly not much of a party-goer myself, but I couldn't miss Blair's birthday." Of course.

"Oh- hello. I'm Gabriel Sylar," he says with a vaguely apologetic tone, as he reaches over and offeres his hand. His demeanor is very friendly, but his eyes are sharp.

Open:

[nobodyneedknow.livejournal.com]

Dorian smiles back, politely, and nods his head. "It's very similar to the parties I am accostumed to, in London," he says. "Have you been friends with Miss Waldorf for long?"

He takes the hand proffered and shakes it. "Mr. Sylar. I'm Dorian Gray," he explains, his own eyes rather soft, but noting the look on Sylar's face.

Open:

[makes-you-tick.livejournal.com]

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gray," he says, shaking the hand firmly (but not overly so). He almost feels he should win an award for keeping his lip from curling under at the name. But his bad memories aren't Dorian's fault, so he just smiles and nods. "I've known Blair for- oh, probably around seven months. That seems to be an awful long time here."

He looks around at the table. "Designating colors was a clever idea, don't you think? It got a few of us into outfits we would never have worn otherwise, at the very least." His gaze lingers on Faith.

Open;

[oshutup.livejournal.com]

As requested, Peter arrived earlier in purple (http://i34.tinypic.com/2ibzqzc.jpg)--not knowing the coincidences this City has landed him with by putting him in this particular suit with a better and solid tie-- alongside Caspian X who went with a hunter green or something like that. Still seated, he glances down the length of the table now and then at the various attendees. Those he knows, he nods at or smiles or both, and all of this over the rim of a wine glass and never mind the matter of age. It does somehow manage to irk and amuse him all at once that Blair is a nineteen to his eighteen, and it is a silly thing to squander over, so he doesn't, but it can't be helped in the noting of it. This happens when a person ages down and has to not only age up again but watch others do so as well, knowing that once, once, he might have been too old to show up to this affair without sticking out rather pointedly. The gift (http://i33.tinypic.com/wmmknq.jpg) he brought for one Blair Waldorf is one that he is not sure of at all, mostly because he is not sure of Blair herself except for that he knows she houses a most discerning eye for the things she does or does not like. Fair enough, and even fairer as it is her event, but a person does tend to hope when giving a gift that the recipient will like it, one way or another.

Sipping wine is less about the wine for the High King and more about the time that can be found as extra if someone addresses him in order to respond, or simply in adding to the illusion of not being quite as idle as he really suspects he is. A bit restless, and no one's fault just the way of it, he pushes back from the table after a while longer, it having occurred to him that he prefers to tell the host a happy birthday face to face rather than down the long line of table between them, or otherwise. It is a party of course, and he does not altogether believe he will make it to her without running into someone else along the way there or on the way back to his seat, but unlike a multitude of events in his white marbled past, he is not trying to evade anyone. All eyes, metaphorically, are on Blair, and that is one of the most pleasant things about this particular party. She seems to, as usual, exude a well cultivated sureness and he can respect that as much as recognize it.

He hopes she is having fun though, and not just watching things with pretty but critical eyes. A birthday ought to be enjoyed, after all, especially one's own.

A simple sentiment? Yes, but it's also an honest one and he stands by it--or walks, rather, toward her end of the table.

[playstheblues.livejournal.com]

Blue is, as usual, in blue; a light blue that he always wears, not a dark blue, and not a suit. Blue doesn't dress up very often, so he just wore his usual vest and shirt combo with a pair of slacks instead of jeans and a small, silver trumpet pin in one buttonhole.

He spotted his friend almost right away and he can almost see the restlessness, and he doesn't blame Peter. Usually Blue is part of the entertainment part of a party, and he doesn't always do his best when it comes to being a guest, but he's polite enough, and when Peter looks free for a moment he sidles up to the High King of Narnia.

"You know, you don't look so bad in purple," Blue says with a slight smile, and it's true. He has a glass of champagne and he swirls it a bit before he takes a sip. Blue doesn't drink very often, for all that he owns a bar, mostly because when he gets drunk he tends to do things like plan the single-handed invasion of the Homelands and then carry out his plans. But at a party, he can handle one or two glasses of something. He holds his alcohol well, the Fable.

[oshutup.livejournal.com]

From the corner of his eye, Peter spots Blue, so named and dressed though this is not unusual. A smile almost to the surface, it finds itself replaced by a curious arch of a brow.

"I don't look so bad," he iterates back, emphasizing the last two words with tone and a tilt of his head before letting that smile escape him after all. "I suppose I can live with that," his decision is more another recognition of the casual air between them, a joke that likely has as much to do with Blue knowing Peter's reaction first was probably to blanch at the color selections. Honestly he would have preferred something darker, preferably close to black, but that would have encroached on someone else's assigned and singular palette. It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows him--not that many people, admittedly--that he thinks of his somewhat strict sticking to the rule to be nothing short of good sportsmanship, or the equivalent. Again, it is not his own party, but Blair's and the minor preference for this person to be this color and that person to be that color is just that--minor--and it pains him nothing to wear it in public. That much is true. Whether he likes it or not, well, that's something entirely different, but of course it is. When isn't it?

"Anyway you look quite at home," and he means again their apparel, not so much the setting, but Blue can read it either way. Some of it has to do with how Peter, even if he had not been told, might be able to read something of years forever invisible on his blond friend's form. Granted it is not that adults have superior airs--sometimes far from it--but that it is still quite different, something noticeable to one familiar, and Peter is. Very. He pauses before adding, "I had no idea...on what to get for her, that is."

The look he sends Blue is not quite long suffering but speaks of staring for a long time in shops he did not want to be in for a girl who is neither his sister, nor a very close companion, but a mediocre gift for Blair would not have done. That is what he reminded himself of while looking, not in the way of wanting to equal the one she presented him with, but in wanting to invest time into something she might actually enjoy. She did not have to love it, or so he told himself when purchasing, and even now he stands by it for the most part, but it would be nice if she did. Peter does so dislike the idea of gifts that just sit around because one does not know what to do with them or what the giver was thinking when getting it for them.

[playstheblues.livejournal.com]

Blue raises his own eyebrow in a semi-teasing response, if only because it is so predictably obvious that both of them are a little unsure about their presence there, although Blue is friends with Blair, he did not think so of the blond King.

Perhaps Blair is simply attracted to Peter's position of power, his friendship with Caspian, his looks and his demeanor. While Blue does not know about Peter's courtier fanclub, he does know that there are people who frequent the Blue Light only to sit in a corner and watch the High King at work. And there is a certain grace and charm, an ease that Peter does everything with, but he is certainly not a man who is easy to befriend, if he does not want to be bothered. But all the same, Blue finds Peter a bit of a kindred soul. They are both, in a manner, too old for their bodies and their faces. Blue supposes it is a blessing that he does not really know his body when it is older, whereas Peter does.

"I got to wear my favorite color," Blue points out, a grin blooming over his face. "But then Blair knows better than to try and put me in anything. I make faces if she does. I'm very good at it." Blue does have an arsenal of faces that he can use if the need arises, if he wants to guilt someone into giving him his way. He does not do it often. "Did you end up getting her a gift? I just wrote her a song. I'm terrible at gift-giving."

That wasn't precisely true. It's just that Blue's gifts turned out to be pieces of himself, and the only bits of himself that remain are the ones that he can't afford to give away yet, not to Blair, not to anyone.

To Peter;

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

It was her own doing, really, assigning him with purple of all things. She should have known that there can't be that many purple suits in the City. But Chuck wears so much purple and this past month she had grown so used to seeing the color that now she misses it. Yet despite that sentiment, she did not intend to make so many of her guests wear that same color; Peter, Sylar, and even Faith. Blair is just glad that she didn't assign him with paisley too.

Noticing Peter walk over to her end of the table, she catches his eyes and smiles. Anticipating a handshake to wish her a happy birthday, she quickly wipes her hands on her napkin before putting it aside. Proper decorum must always be observed, of course. "Hi Peter."

To Peter;

[oshutup.livejournal.com]

Shaking Blair's hand does not occur to Peter who associates that with how he might wish his brother a happy birthday, complete with a pat on the back or some such. Blair Waldorf, younger than him as she is, he considers something of a lady from what he has observed and discerned however loosely. She exudes an uprightness about her that echoes of society that, perhaps contrary to her wishes, emphasizes her youth, but Peter doesn't know a thing of the coveted nature of a young face in the twenty-first century.

"Happy birthday," he smiles at her, a casual curve of the mouth that meets his eyes. Standing a little to one side of her, he is thankfully not obtrusive, because whoever was sitting there is not at the moment, else he might have to say hello to them too. Moving toward another point he has had on the edge of his mind so far this night, tilting his gaze a little with a mild confidence, he adds, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Something in the tone, perhaps, suggests that he wonders this because he recognizes that she is of course the host as well, and as such, must feel herself tethered to certain responsibilities and the overseeing of, well, everything. In his own experience, it is not very fun, all of that, but Peter has never been a very enthusiastic fan of parties in general; it might just be him.

Open;

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

Rosella likes parties, and she likes birthdays, and she very much likes Blair; put them all together, and it will undoubtedly produce an evening she's going to enjoy. It's great fun, she thinks, to look around the table and see all the guests in their rainbow of colors, with Blair glittering like a star at the table's head. She's quite pleased with her own pink (http://i669.photobucket.com/albums/vv60/Fortunes_Wings/Polychromatic/New-Pink-Prom-Dress-3.jpg) dress, an attempt at compromise between Blair's standards of fashion and her own; still, it's clear that no one is outshining Blair tonight, and really, that's as it should be.

She knows quite a few of the other guests present, though she'd be lying if she said she weren't a bit surprised to see some of them seated around the table with her. Still, Sam is here, and Blue, and Caspian and Tony and the mysterious Dorian Gray--and indeed, it's nice that he and Caspian have been put in different colors tonight, since it makes it so much easier to tell them apart at a glance--so while she may be surprised, she's hardly uncomfortable.

And so she sits, sipping her drink and occasionally fiddling with the necklace dangling from her neck--the magic one is still being repaired, and it's odd to go without it, so she can't quite help but toy with the unfamiliar weight (or lack thereof) of the one she's wearing--and chatting amiably with anyone that might happen by.

[couturecaspian.livejournal.com]

"Hello," says the Telmarine with a smile to the lady in pink.

It is after the main dinner because while they were at the table Rosella was a whole five people down to his left. That made for no conversation at all with the princess during the feast but just as well because it's very rude to talk with one's mouth full. So now Caspian dressed in his hunter green leans to one side of her, glass of some kind of spirit, wine maybe, in his hand. He is not intoxicated though, hardly. Hardly yet.

[primrosella.livejournal.com]

It was indeed a shame that she'd been sitting too far away from Caspian during dinner to engage him in conversation, but thankfully, now that dinner is over, there are no such restrictions. And it's always such a pleasure to see him--he really does look good in green--that she can't keep a smile off her face when he leans in next to her.

"Good evening, Caspian," Rosella answers cheerfully, flashing him a bright grin. "You look quite dashing tonight. Are you enjoying yourself?"

Open;

[makes-you-tick.livejournal.com]

Sylar is on his very best behavior tonight. Obviously pleased to be here, he watches everyone at the party with a sharp eye- but not so sharp as to be misconstrued as dangerous. He's been trying to get better with that whole ominous aura thing.

So he's sitting back in his chair, wearing one of the more comfortable suits (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v76/CuteDestruction/PurpleSuit1.jpg) he's had in awhile. It's odd wearing a color other than black or grey, but the purple is so dark, it almost might as well be black.

He had brought a gift (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v76/CuteDestruction/skeleton.jpg)- a Pierrot skeleton watch. Well- technically his own creation, but it was based off that design. He'd included several different colors of facings in the box- he'd have to install those himself, but a variety of color never hurt, as this party practically exemplified.

He smiles over at Blair from his seat, hoping she's enjoying herself as much as it seems. It's truly a beautiful evening, if nothing else.

To Sylar;

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

Had he asked, Blair would have told him that yes, he is dealing pretty well with the whole ominous aura thing --although, coming from one who strikes fear into freshmen at just one sight, her opinion might not matter much.

She has noticed that almost all of the guests had given her jewelry of some sort (and yes, she sneaked to the restroom to take a peek at all the gifts already). Maybe because they figured her out as someone who cares about fashion, but they could not figure her dress size or shoe size. Nevertheless, Blair likes gifts, even more so when they are from people she likes. God knows how many silly t-shirts Nate had gotten for her when they were dating, and while she would never wear them, she still liked them. She likes the watch and she can wear it, maybe with that blouse she just bought last week, so it's perfect in her reckoning. She wonders if maybe Sylar has installed something nifty in it too.

"Do you like the champagne? I know it's not to everyone's taste," Blair says.

[makes-you-tick.livejournal.com]

Sylar tips the glass in his hand slightly, examining it with a small smile. When he looks back to Blair, that smile stays on his lips. "It's certainly the best champagne I've ever had. I don't usually drink it, but- occasions like this, it just tastes better. At least I think so." He tips it back and takes a quick sip. "It's a pity I can't get drunk any longer. Not even a little. The one downside to healing everything."

He shrugs- it obviously doesn't bother him too much- and he looks Blair up and down. "You certainly picked the right outfit for the occasion. That dress looks wonderful on you- but of course it does. I hope you're enjoying the party so far? It's a good group." He looks over the table, surveying everyone. He doesn't know most of them, other than what he's seen on the Network. He does pay pretty close attention to the Network, however.

Open;

[couturecaspian.livejournal.com]

As assigned, Caspian X appears in green (http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b117/ACXchan/2cdzlg4.jpg) that might hold a subtle shimmer when one looks this way instead of that way under the light. His gift to Blair is, like Peter's, a piece of jewelry, a bracelet (http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b117/ACXchan/35130081_plum.jpg) to be exact. Its origin is unknown to him other than having picked it up at one of the jewelers in the City, something something Prorsum. Either way, name has little significance to this king because his palate is geared towards beauty and quality, both of which the plum colored bracelet has in spades. But gift giving aside, the party itself is wonderful, not too big but hardly small with the amount of guests invited. He is well-acquainted with the blond across from him, the blond to the right of him, and the brunette to the left of him, not to mention eight or so others. Caspian makes conversation where he can, always smiling and never one to shy from socializing, at least when he isn't the host. Whether at the table or on his feet around the penthouse he intends to make the most of the evening.

open

[stacked]

If this was anybody else's birthday, Faith would have bailed by now. The whole... fancy dinner party thing makes her feel wicked awkward, she's stuck in a room mostly full of she's never met, and she's wearing a freaking dress. She was just going to wear the dress Blair got her, but Sylar convinced her it wasn't purple. (She's pretty goddamn sure it's purple, but whatever. Rich people are fucked up.) Blair better like the one she's wearing because after one full afternoon of hell and bitchy salespeople, she's never going into those stores again.

There's not really a unit of measurement for how much she'd rather be out for burgers and beer with Eddie, but she owes Blair. Hell, she likes Blair, so she can just gut it out while feeling stupid and out of place for a couple hours.

...But apparently not with a smile on her face, so anyone foolhardy enough to try and approach a severely uncomfortable looking Slayer will first have to brave the stoneface she's rocking.

[ooc: /Jedi hand wave That dress is purple, I swear. YOU SAW NOTHING.]

open

[makes-you-tick.livejournal.com]

Sylar leaves her alone for a few moments to introduce himself around, but he quickly gravitates towards Faith again. He has no problem approaching her when she's looking uncomfortable.

"You look amazing, you know," he says, announcing his presence behind her. He puts an arm around her for just a moment, a possessive gesture that he hasn't quite gotten over since the Sadie Hawkins curse. "It looks like there's lots of food on the way," he adds, with a small smile. Between the two of them, they could probably put a restaurant out of business, so lots of food is definitely a good thing.

Sylar looks comfortable here, but he doesn't really fit. It's mostly camouflage, but he manages it well. His mother would be proud (and is, during those rare times that he talks to her). Still, he does stick closer to Faith than usual, wanting the comfort of someone who knows him better.

open

[stacked]

Faith is perfectly happy to let Sylar do the gladhanding thing by himself while she glowers in a corner. She's only here because Blair asked her to be, and anyone else would have gotten jeans, fuck the dress code. But B gets a little more room, so she's here. Doesn't mean she has to kiss up to people she doesn't know.

"I look wicked stupid, Gabe." She crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head, hair brushing across the arm he wraps around her shoulders. She contains the urge to bridle at the casual possessiveness, and just rolls her eyes a little instead, letting his arm rest on her without a fight until he pulls it away. "There better be, I'm not wearing this freaking thing for no reason." This time the eyeroll is obvious. "Swear to God, that other one was purple too. I don't get the big deal."

Faith's perfectly happy to stick close, as well. Other than Dorian and that other guy who looks just like him-- maybe later she'll ask him how his jailbait is, just because sharing the misery is what Faith does-- she only knows two people. And anybody who's into this scene isn't exactly her kind of people. Too much money, too much breeding. She's from Southie; this party's Beacon Hill shit. Simple as that.

To Faith;

[miss-waldorf.livejournal.com]

"Imagine how many polar bears we can save with that look of yours," Blair comments with a quirk of her eyebrow, sipping her drink. "It can freeze the world two times over."

The moment the words slipped out her mouth, she feels a little scared. This is Faith, after all, and she has heard of what she is capable of. But another part of her also thinks that she is a friend, and that her presence here with that dress should say something (unless it was Sylar who had forced her to go). Blair must admit that the Slayer looks rather harmless in a dress and heels, but dangerously gorgeous too. She makes a mental note to make Faith wear heels more often.

Saved by the cater waiter, the entree arrives just in time. It is a dainty little thing, artfully decorated but lacking in quantity. Ah, truite et mousse de saumon fumé. Blair turns to Faith expecting at least a sign of happiness at the food. "I hope you like fish?"

To Blair;

[stacked]

"Hey, polar bears are the shit." Faith shakes her head, grinning a little. "And can the sarcasm, B. I'm here, right?"

It's another case of 'anybody else...' with this one. There's a short list of people who can talk to Faith like that without seeing some sincerely bad bruising in their near future; she's never dealt well with feeling less than. But with those select few on the list, she'll take as well as she dishes it out.

As Blair is assessing Faith, she's doing the same, and the birthday girl gets a low, admiring whistle. "Looking good, by the way." If she was anybody else, Faith might offer a hug; as it is, she just grins a little and gestures vaguely over where her jacket is stashed (beat up leather, of course-- you can take the girl out of Southie...) and looks slightly awkward. "Got you something. Figured I'd give it to you later, when I can show you a couple things." And when she can be without other people. Opening herself to any sort of disappointment-- what the hell does Faith know about what chicks like Blair like?-- in front of a bunch of strangers isn't any higher on her list than parties like this usually are.

"I like food." Faith has no idea what the hell that stuff is, but whatever, she'll eat it. Not like she can't get a burger or three after. "I'm easy, trust me."

[ooc: Blair's present will be three sets of jeweled hair sticks that can also kill things, sob. Faith does not give presents that are not weapons, lol.]